


Solitude

by lecomtedelacomtesse



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: F/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecomtedelacomtesse/pseuds/lecomtedelacomtesse
Summary: Just an imagine where the reader falls in love with Collins but he is called off to war. Will he return and will you wait for him?





	Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a request from londonr26
> 
> Named after Billie Holiday’s _Solitude_ (worth a listen)
> 
> Also, I tried a style without dialogue for a challenge! I hope it works.

September, 1939. 

It is is one week after Britain has officially declared war on Germany and you are reorganising the window display in your parents’ London bookshop. Books on the Great War have been flying off the shelves lately and you can’t blame people for looking to this period in the not-so-distant past to get an understanding of what war will be like this time around. Most people still remember the Great War and many had lost loved ones to it. From what you read, there is definitely more awareness from the older generations this time around, when it comes to the realities of what this war will cost the nation. There is still a large element of naive heroicism though, especially amongst the youth. The whole idea scares you more than you care to admit. 

You have just received a new shipment of volumes on the topic of war, ranging from wartime technology to published wartime field journals and manuals, and you feel some shame in arranging them on display in such a way, almost enticing young men into the idealism of war. There is still an embellished and glorified element to all of it that makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

It’s nearing the end of the day when you hear the bell signifying someone has just entered. You look up and you’re instantly taken aback by the face of a young man looking back at you, his enquiring blue eyes and a shock of strawberry-blond hair take your breath away for a moment, but you quickly gather yourself in time to politely enquire about how you can help. 

The young man—Scottish judging by his accent—introduces himself as Jack and asks what books you have on wartime aviation, specifically on aircraft and dogfight tactics used during the Great War. He has just come from his small hometown of Oxton and is on his way to enlist in the RAF to join the war effort. 

You expect he wants an idea of what he’s getting himself into, so you solemnly lead him to the right section and point out everything you can think of which contains any mentions of wartime aviation. You’ve read them all.

He first strikes you as charming, way too handsome for his own good, and by the way he holds his jaw, maybe just a little arrogant. Though from talking to him you realise that perhaps some of that arrogance can be chalked up to pride and patriotism for his Scottish homeland. His sarcastic sense of humour also catches you a bit off guard, but after you realise that his teasing is actually in some way a form of flirtation you start to see it as endearing. 

He keeps coming back to your store after that, asking for more information on various specific topics and it soon becomes clear that he is no longer visiting for the books. You have long conversations about many different things while you’re there, and he even asks for you by name when you aren’t. By November all of your family who work in the store are aware of him too. 

It is your sister who finally calls him out on his behaviour and urges him to stop being a coward and just ask you out on a date. You’re mortified by this but also secretly thankful when he comes back the next day looking dashing in his brand new RAF uniform, to do just that. 

You go out with a group of his fellow trainee pilots and their partners while he’s on leave from flight training for the purpose of dancing, but you end up spending the night holed up in a corner talking to each other instead. 

He tells you about his childhood, about how his grandfather had taught him how to fly in an old plane which he kept locked away in rusty old shed on their family farm. He understands the mechanics of it all, but technology has come a long way since that basic plane was designed and it’s a steep learning curve. The way he talks about flying sends you into into a state of awe. He is so passionate about every detail and it amazes you in a way that has you always wanting to know more. 

He also tells you how his father was an RAF fighter ace who had died towards the end of the Great War. Your heart clenches as you hear him say that although he’d never met him, he just knew when this war broke out that he had to follow in his father’s footsteps and enlist. You shudder as you realise that with it comes the unspoken hope that he doesn’t end up following his example to the grave. 

You share your life story with him too, and realise that your passion for reading and books is not so dissimilar to his love for flying. Both pursuits had started as a natural progression passed down from a parent, but have ended up being much more than that. 

Your are both passionate people, and your passion is reflected in each other. As the months pass you develop a deeper understanding of each other’s souls and you soon become inseparable. When he is not in flight training, he is with you. He helps you with daily things in the store and often just sits with you while you read. 

You are so used to having him around that it hits you hard when he tells you one day that his training is over and he will now have to spend more of his time at base and flying on live missions. It’s on this day when you realise through the heartache that you love this man. On your final night together before he is due to spend months away you decide to tell him so, and he responds by kissing you deeply for the first time. The feeling it gives you is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. 

He is stationed away from you for some time and you write to him every day. He responds as often as he can and tells you he loves you with every letter. When he finally has his first real mission—he is sent to Dunkirk to cover the evacuation there—it doesn’t go well. He has flown often with his squadron before, but never seen true action before this and he comes back visibly shaken. He doesn’t tell you all the details, but from what he does say you gather that he was the only one from his squadron to return. You send your thanks up to the heavens that he is okay, but you can’t help but notice his trademark arrogance and a large portion of his confidence fades that day. 

With each mission and each friend who falls after that, he loses it more and more. 

The many brushes with death have you both considering the reality that his chances of survival are pretty slim. With the life expectancy of fighter pilots among the shortest in the military you realise that one day soon you might hear the news that it is him who has been killed. You are honestly terrified and you cannot face the idea of him being harmed. Whenever he gets leave you spend the time adoring each other. You hold him close and try to commit every part of him to memory; his voice and the way his accent caresses your name, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, the creases that appear by his eyes when he teases you, the way he laughs, the soapy smell of his flaxen hair—and his eyes, deep as the ocean and blue as the sky on the clearest day. Everything about him is beautiful, and it’s almost as if you to breathe the life back into him when you’re around. He always leaves you more like himself than when he arrives.

One night, he arrives on your doorstep with his grandmother’s ring and asks you to marry him. You are overwhelmed with emotion and accept. There is no doubt in your mind as he sweeps you off your feet and twirls you around, kissing you with a passion that only he can. There is no one else on this earth that you’d rather grow old with and all you can do is pray that you will be allowed that time with him, someday. That night you make love, and afterwards you’re sure that your hearts are now more infinitely woven together than ever before. He is yours and you are forever his. 

You are hardly allowed enough time together when you are ripped apart again. The Battle of Britain commences and his leave is cut short as all able pilots are called to defend their homeland with urgency. The Blitz raids begin to tear the country apart, and London herself is slowly reduced to rubble. All the while, he is up there—fighting for his life in the sky and at the same time risking it all for a future—intercepting bombers and dogfighting day after day. 

After a particularly bad streak of bombing raids, it soon becomes apparent that your family can’t stay in London any longer. Your parents organise a rental property in the countryside, far enough outside of the city to keep you out of the line of the barrage of bombs and you’re whisked away with only enough time to hurriedly pack your things.

You write one last note to Jack to let him know your new address and tell him to write to you as soon as he is able. He hasn’t had much of a chance lately to write to you and the constant worry has you feeling on edge at all times. 

You settle into your new home with your sister and parents and all the while await news from Jack. When close to a month passes with no word you are concerned, but he has gone this long before without writing so you don’t lose hope yet. After three months you are downright sick with worry. When six months have passed you decide it’s worth risking your life to go on a day trip back to London to check if there has been any mail left there. Perhaps he didn’t get your letter about the change of address? You don’t want to think of the other possible explanations for his silence. You only tell your sister of your plans because you know your parents will only try to stop you. 

London is almost unrecognisable to you, and you are shocked to find that your family’s old home is one of the few buildings left standing. When you arrive, you knock on your old landlady’s door and after a warm greeting you ask if there has been any mail. You are terrified by her solemn expression when she simply nods and leads you into her kitchen, telling you to sit down. 

She steps out of the room for a moment, and when she returns, her expression is grim. You suddenly realise what she has to tell you and almost consider getting up to run from the room, but then she places the very objects you most fear to see in front of you, and it feels like a nightmare. There is one sealed telegram from the war administration addressed to you, one unopened letter with the king’s seal, and your most recent letter, unopened, with RETURN TO SENDER stamped in bold on the outside. 

This is it. 

With shaking hands, you open the yellow envelope which holds the telegram. You already know what’s inside, but seeing the words written so plainly in black and white destroys your world completely. 

_I deeply regret to inform you that 575431 Flight Officer Collins J.A. has been identified as missing from our operations on the night of 12 February 1941. Letter following. Please accept my most profound sympathy_

You look up at your old landlady and vaguely note that the colour must have drained from your face. Your ears are ringing and you feel numb. You cannot believe it. You drop the slip of paper as though it has burned you and push the chair out from under you as you stagger backwards. You know without opening it that the other envelope contains a standard issue letter from the King — thanking you for your sacrifice and reassuring you that he didn’t die in vain. You are numb. 

Your ears are ringing so you don’t remember hearing what else your old landlady is saying. She is giving you a look of pity. She knows what’s inside the yellow envelope. She’s seen them come before. She gathers the papers for you and places them all in a neat pile in front of her. She offers to help but nothing she can do will make it any better. You are only able to whisper a strained thank you as you scoop up the letters and flee back out to the street. 

You head back to the train station on autopilot. When you finally arrive on your parents’ front doorstep, you don’t even notice it’s been raining all this time and you just stand there, drenched and helpless. 

You haven’t cried yet, and as your sister opens the door and she knows instantly by the look on your face and the state you’re in that the worst has happened. You just look at her with a desperate expression, silently begging for it not to be true. She gives you a knowing look that’s full of deep concern and in that moment it finally hits you. You know it is true, so you just break down. Tears pour from your eyes as your legs give way.

Through your shuddering sobs, your sister drops down by your side to comfort you. You don’t even feel her arms around you or the soothing words she tries to speak as she drags you inside out of the rain. 

For the next few days, the grief is unbearable. Jack is gone. You want to visit his family to find out more of the details, as though this will somehow bring him closer to you, but you are constantly nauseated and can’t bring yourself to leave your bedroom just yet. Your sister pays them a visit instead, and somehow the additional information she brings back only makes you feel worse. He was shot down over occupied Belgium during a nighttime mission whilst attempting to intercept a raid. His squadron members had heard him radio in as his plane went down. The more you know about the circumstances surrounding his last moments, the more nauseated you feel. When this news first reaches you, you only just make it to the bathroom before throwing up. 

The report said missing because they hadn’t seen the actual impact. But nobody saw a chute. You know in your heart that there is practically no hope he had made it out alive. Yet the fact that there is any hope at all might be what keeps from destroying you. Somehow not having his death confirmed torments and comforts you at the same time, and as months turn into years and still no confirmation comes, a sliver of hope still clings to your heart somehow. 

You pretend he is still alive somewhere. You pretend he will be coming home. And you keep yourself busy at the local hospital to avoid the dread setting in whenever you’re alone. You don’t read anymore, and you don’t like books as you once did. In fact, you greatest fear is being left alone to your thoughts. You work long hours just to exhaust yourself so you can fall into bed at night and sleep. 

By 1945, the war is over. You have been working as a nurse for close to three years, but it’s not a profession you want to continue after the war. You plan on becoming a teacher and you have even started reading books again. You are not so scared of being alone anymore and memories of the man you loved now bring you some comfort instead of endless pain. You still don’t believe that your heart will ever be the same, or that you could ever love someone so deeply again, but the acceptance was something and that’s all that mattered. You still wear his grandmother’s ring on your left hand. 

After a few months you find a job teaching children at a school near your home. Your parents sell their old bookstore and with their help and your savings, you have enough to move out on your own. Your life is almost peaceful, but for the emptiness you feel deep down when you think of what could have been. Sometimes you can’t help but picture your own children among those in your classroom. It’s so easy to picture them there, with strawberry-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. 

The day you go into the small town near your home to pick up some more books for your class, it seems like just any other day. Only it’s not. You are just stepping out of the local bookstore with an armful of children’s books, when you hear it, your name, called out as you cross the quiet street. 

Automatically, you look up to find the voice, only realising once you’ve seen the man with strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes that it’s a familiar sound. You hear that voice in your dreams — imagine it from time to time, but it’s a sound you never thought you’d actually hear again. You don’t dare to allow yourself to believe it’s him, but as he makes his way towards you, there’s no denying the person standing before you is Jack Collins.

You stumble backwards in disbelief, and he is there to catch you. He can’t save the books though, which fall across the ground, forgotten. 

He sets you right again and takes a step back, his movements hesitant. You stand there frozen in shock, unable to move as you take him in. He is much thinner than you remember, and there are lines on his face that weren’t there before, but he is still so handsome that it almost stops your heart. He is mumbling and stuttering his way through an explanation about how he’s been looking for you for months. How he’s just been discharged from hospital. How he’s been holed up in a POW camp for the past 4 and a bit years. How you’re the only thing that got him through. Then his eyes suddenly fly down to your left hand and he pales as he sees the ring there. You have lost weight since he gave it to you and though it fit perfectly at the time, it is looser on you now, and you realise that it has spun around to leave just the band visible. He doesn’t know that it’s his ring, so he takes a step backwards, putting unbearable distance between you. You can’t stand the look of dejection on his face, and its enough to snap you out of your dazed state. 

Tears fill your eyes as you close the distance between you once more, lifting your arms to hold his face in your hands. You bring your forehead to his and tell him softly that you’re his. That you love him. That you always will. You pull away briefly to spin the ring around, showing him. His eyes fill with relief and he draws you in, holding you tightly against his chest as you both cry. 

Neither of you are the same, but it’s plain to you both that nothing matters but this. Tears fill your eyes as you thank the heavens that you will get to love this man as your husband for the rest of your life.


End file.
